


A Different Kind of Love Story

by someidiothasice



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Background Steve/Tony, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someidiothasice/pseuds/someidiothasice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't delude himself. He knows that the life he leads, the life of an agent, isn't fair to a romantic partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Love Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/gifts).



Nobody is surprised when Tony and Steve fall into bed together. Not even when it turns out to be more than just a roll in the hay.

They lead up to it for almost a year, months of tightly clenched jaws that turn into rueful smiles, the angry barbs tossed forth between them becoming playful taunts. The air in the room gets thicker everytime they are both in it, and it's plain to see that the passion they hold for each other alongside the respect and admiration is mutual.

Bets are made, and the day Steve is seen with a hickey on his neck well above collar level money changes hands so many times at SHIELD you would think they kept a whiteboard in a room somewhere with the odds all neatly calculated in red, yellow and blue marker.

Phil watches it unfold from afar with mild interest. He always wondered if one day, maybe when his time at SHIELD comes to a close, there was something like that in store for him. Maybe not to the level Tony and Steve have brought being in a Serious and Deeply Commited Relationship to, filled with drama and often fraught with strife, but something else. A face to greet him at the end of the day, a meal shared in sweatpants over his coffee table. A warm body to sleep next to and pairs of socks mixed in his laundry that aren't his own.

He doesn't delude himself. He knows that the life he leads, the life of an agent, isn't fair to a romantic partner. A partner in the field, sure. To go from Florida one day, to Cambodia the next, to have a gun in his face and throwing stars flying past his neck millimeters away from vital arteries... The life of a field agent is shaky at best, deadly at worst. It isn't something he is willing to put on a wife. To know that he might not make it back one day, to put someone in the position of having to wait, to worry.

It isn't a burden he would _want_ to put on someone. Not at this point in his life.

Phil wonders if there will ever be someone for him. He has always been comfortable with his sexuality. He knows who he is and where he derives his pleasure. That he gets more of it from an accurate shot, a well timed thrown article (and it could be a grenade or a bag of flour, he's not picky) is something he is okay with. He can appreciate beauty, the gentle curve of a woman's hip, the strong plane of a man's chest, sure. Phil is okay with picking up a woman for an evening, finding a man in a bar to pass a few unmemorable hours with before putting his suit jacket back on and becoming Phil Coulson again.

He watches at SHIELD headquarters one day, after the Avengers battle an army of teenaged witches that try to take over the city, the way Steve's shoulders tense as he pushes from the room as soon as the debrief is over. Tony's jaw is clenched and his knuckles have turned white where he's clutching at the arms of his chair.

What they have is a love of epic proportions. When they do everything it is big, whether it's loving or fighting. Phil wonders what it must be like for them and the only word he can think of is _exhausting_. It's not something he wants, not on that scale.

He is gathering his papers into a tidy pile, looking around for a spare file folder to put them into, when Hawkeye perches on the end of his desk.

"So," he says, swinging his feet a little bit. "That was something."

"Yes it was," is all he says, pulling open a drawer. He's certain he has them, he is nothing if not organized, yet he cannot spot an empty folder anywhere. It's unsettling.

"The director's giving us the weekend off," Hawkeye continues. Phil nods, because he knows this. The Avengers don't have anything like a set schedule. It's more of a 'we'll call you the minute we need you,' thing, but while supervillians aren't exactly in short supply, there are also the X-Men and the Fantastic Four around on standby to help out, so the Avengers have most weekends off regardless. "I heard about this place over in Little Italy, they're supposed to have the best cannoli on the island."

Phil looks up from his inspection of his drawer. "I hope you're joking. You can't find good Italian anywhere in Little Italy."

Hawkeye smiles, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Do tell."

"If you're looking for a good Italian place I'd recomment Peasant." Phil pulls at the files in the back of the drawer and yes, there they are, a small stack of unused folders that were just waiting to be discovered. He pulls one out. "They try to close at around midnight, so if you've got a date I'd recommend getting there around ten o'clock. Late enough to avoid the dinner rush and most of the reservations, early enough not to be a bother to the cooks."

"Always thinking ahead, you are," Hawkeye says with a laugh in his voice. Phil gives a shrug as he places the files inside. Then he frowns at the pile and looks around for a paperclip. Where-- ahh, yes. They are in a magnetised cube behind the blonde on his desk. Phil can wait for him to move, though, so he sits back in his chair and looks up at him. "No, no date. Yet."

"Then I assume you came by for... a recommendation? I just gave you one."

"An invite," Hawkeye says bluntly. "I'm inviting you to have dinner with me on Saturday night." Phil blinks up at him and Hawkeye gives him another small smile. "Sir."

Phil doesn't rub his forehead, he's far too professional for that, but he does close his eyes briefly.

"Before you say 'no,' and I can see that you really want to, think about it. No, seriously. Think about it." Hawkeye leans forward and places a hand on Phil's shoulder. "You already trust me. You know who I am, you know what I do, and you know that I spend more time out of the country than I do in it. You know what size shoe I wear, the languages I speak, probably even the brand of hair gel that I use."

"Hawkeye," Phil begins, but he gets shaken gently before he can finish.

"Clint," Hawkeye interrupts.

"Hawkeye," Phil tries again, and this time the blonde's mouth stays closed. "This is not a good idea. If you're just looking for a fun time I understand, trust me, I do. But I'm not really the person you should be asking."

"Why, because you're my boss?" Hawkeye asks. His tone isn't snide, or angry or whining. He's genuinely curious. "Does it bend some rule of fraternization here a SHIELD that I don't know about?"

"Yes."

"There isn't one. I checked."

Phil does rub his forehead now, because it's all true. He knows that Hawkeye wears a size eleven shoe, that he speaks fluent Russian, German and Spanish, but can't speak French to save his life. Phil knows that he prefers Coke to Pepsi but he'll take a Dr. Pepper over both. Phil even knows that Hawkeye doesn't use hair gel, but a pomade that can only be found in a salon in the upper east side.

"I'm not really looking for a long lasting relationship," he tries, because that much is true as well. He's not, he really isn't. But then he thinks of the times between the fights when the paparazzi catches Tony and Steve strolling the streets of Manhattan, Steve's fingers tucked into the belt loops of Tony's jeans, and he can't help but wonder what something like that might be like.

"I'm not asking for your hand in marriage." Hawkeye sits up a little straighter and rests his folded hands over his knee. "Just dinner."

Phil cocks his head to the side and studies the man in front of him. A month ago they were in Seattle and he'd watched with a cool eye as Hawkeye's footing slipped on the ledge of a rooftop and the man had nearly taken a dive off of a twenty story building. He thinks of it being the other way around, if he was the one biting his nails waiting to hear if his partner was coming home or not, then he blinks, because Hawkeye already _is_ his partner. Maybe not in life, but in all the other ways necessary to him.

He'll never be that person, the one waiting at home drawing in baited breaths, and Hawkeye would laugh if he knew Phil was thinking in terms such as these. Ninety percent of the time he is already there, on the other side of the comm line when Hawkeye makes a snap decision in the field. He trusts the judgement of the man in front of him, has for years.

If Hawkeye -- _Clint_ , Phil thinks -- thinks doing this might be a good idea, thinks it enough to broach the subject in the middle of SHIELD headquarters while sitting on the corner of Phil's desk in full view of anyone who might walk by, then he trusts him enough to follow his lead.

"Okay," he says. A real smile crosses Clint's face, not one of the small ones he's so fond of giving him, and Phil's pleased to see that it lights up the younger man's face. He's already thinking of ways to do it again, because it's a very nice smile. "You can pick me up at eight. Clint," he adds, trying out the name on his tongue. It doesn't taste bad.

"I thought dinner was going to be at ten," Clint says in a teasing voice. Phil recognizes the tone. He's heard it come into play several times over the years he's been working side by side with Clint and he's a little surprised to suddenly realize that he's only ever heard it directed towards him.

"I've got a few things in mind to do before we get there," is all he says. He lets the corner of his mouth quirk in a mimicry of the smile Clint gave him earlier, already planning their evening in his mind.

They are both cool, calculating in a way that life as a secret agent has molded them into being. Phil doesn't anticipate many fights in their future, if any at all, and he'll never be caught dead giving Clint the kinds of looks Steve directs at Tony when he thinks nobody's looking. They will never have the grand romance that makes the morning papers, they will probably never be noticed when they walk into a bakery to get bagels before work, and it's entirely possible that they might not even make it to a second date.

But Phil can already imagine a future where he finds wrist guards mixed in the drawers of his office next to his gun holsters, and just the thought of being a different kind of love story is already enough to make him smile.

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely [sirona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/), who had a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. This one's for you, babe. *hug*


End file.
